


Blue and Orange Morality

by originalgay1895



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Castiel isn't really bad, Forced Pregnancy, Happy Ending, I would say so but i'm a cj major so you know, Inspired by the Handmaid's Tale, Kidnapping? Kind of?, M/M, Mpreg, Rape/Non-con Elements, Smut, So is Gabriel, Stockholm Syndrome, True Vessels, Vessels, but not TOO depressing, he's trying his best, i guess?, similar but my own twist on it
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-09
Updated: 2019-05-09
Packaged: 2020-02-28 21:37:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,261
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18764728
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/originalgay1895/pseuds/originalgay1895
Summary: Heaven's population has been declining, with God missing, they have to resort to different measures to repopulate.Nephilim.A story inspired by The Handmaid's Tale. (I don't mean this to copy that story in any way, I just wanted to read a story with this concept based in the spn universe and noticed there weren't any, so here we are.)





	1. The Beginning

**Author's Note:**

> This could be potentially triggering. Please read the tags and warnings. If The Handmaid's Tale was triggering to you, this will be too.
> 
> Please let me know of any comments, advice, or concerns. This hasn't been beta read, so fair warning. 
> 
> This is just the intro chapter, no real plot development, just trying to set up the story. I hope you enjoy!

The angels coming to earth marked the beginning of a new era. Dean doesn’t know the whole story, no one does, but the information he has managed to glean from the sparse conversations he hears, the story goes like this. The angel population was diminishing, with God missing angels didn’t have a way to replenish their population. Angels aren’t born, they’re created by God. However, if an angel cultivates their grace in a human, they are able to create Nephilims – half angel, half human babies. This is always a last resort, though, because Nephilim pregnancies are notoriously difficult, in fact for more than a millennium they have been banned. Another issue with this style of creating new angels was the limited amount of humans able to withstand a Nephilim pregnancy. These humans are considered “true vessels”, bloodlines of people who are capable of holding the grace in their bodies without spontaneously combusting. Dean isn’t entirely sure if the spontaneous combustion thing is true, he has to take the information where he can get it.

 

Basically, what all this complicate shit means is that the angels were desperate for more soldiers. Their army was dying off, but they weren’t going to let that happen. Which brought everyone here; angels capturing true vessels to breed. Dean isn’t even sure if it’s considered capturing - since it’s legal now. People have decided since the majority of the population aren’t true vessels that the world isn’t really at risk. Also, there really isn’t a way to punish the angels, since, you know, they’re _angels_. Some people embraced this new way of life, they called it the will of God, but others knew the truth – that God had left years ago. Dean also knew the truth, that the people who supported this were batshit crazy. The only reason it was apparently a “non-issue” was that most people were safe. Which, if anyone cared, Dean thought was pretty un-fucking-fair.

 

It was particularly unfair because apparently Dean was a so-called “true vessel” and so was his brother. He and Sammy tried to run. His dad tried to help, but they stab him while all three of them were on the run – he didn’t make it. Well, more than all three of them, there was a group of people, they called themselves The Hunters. It was kind of like an underground society, helping true vessels and their families who were on the run. Dean doesn’t know what happened to The Hunters, if they’re still out there fighting, or if the angels killed them all. He hopes they’re still out there; he hopes they made it to safety – wherever safety is. He tries to get what little information he can about them, they were like a family to him. Bobby, Ellen, Jo, even Ash.

 

Even more desperately, Dean hopes that Sam is okay. He’s placed with an archangel named Gabriel. Dean’s pretty sure he’s the actual Messenger of God, but if he is, then the Bible is really off on the whole character portrayal thing. Gabriel is kind of a complete asshole, the kind that could rip you to shreds without breaking a sweat, just with a thought, really, but also, Dean thinks it could really be a lot worse. He isn’t sure how the angels decide what vessels get placed with what angels, but Dean is pretty fucking grateful he’s not with Raphael, another archangel, who, from word on the street, is a big douchebag with no regard for human comfort. See, there are two types of angels, well, three, really. Those who thought true vessels were a blessing, people who were providing miracles from God. Anna, Hester, and Hannah come to mind. There were also those who were pretty indifferent to the whole thing, mostly just following orders without any real opinion on the matter, Dean was pretty certain this type of angel made up the most of the population, because angels were spineless dicks who couldn’t think for themselves, but they were a lot better than the third type. The third type were angels who had a complete disregard for humans, they thought them a waste of space, abominations, they weren’t so many of these angels, thankfully, and they also seemed to mostly be angels who didn’t have a true vessel. Mostly. For example, Zachariah, Uriel, and Rachel. However, there were some who did have a true vessel, like Raphael, Naomi, and Bartholomew.

 

Luckily, his personal angel – Castiel, or as Dean liked to privately refer to him, his abductor, seemed pretty neutral to humans. He certainly didn’t act like Dean was some type of miracle, but he also didn’t treat him like shit. He truly seemed to have no opinion on the matter. Gabriel, too, seemed neutral, but in his own fucked up douche bag way.

 

It didn’t really matter how _well_ Castiel was treating him, because he still thought that _impregnating_ Dean with an actual fucking angel baby was a-okay. Dean had tried to explain to him that it absolutely was not, but the absolute shitty thing was, no matter how much an angel likes humans, one thing was absolutely constant with all of them, their inability to take humans seriously. They do not listen to humans, mostly just sush-ing them like pets of babies. Angels have not, in all of Dean’s attempts, tried to see reason.  

 

In conclusion, Dean Winchester is fucked, and not just in the metaphorical sense.


	2. You Are In Command Now

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean is introduced to his new home and his angel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys for reading! I hope the transition from chapter one to this chapter isn't confusing. The first chapter was basically an intro to the story, this is really where the story begins.

It’s a large house, is his first thought, it’s bordering on too large, really. It’s brick, three storeys, one of them being the attic on top. There are lots of windows, with crisscross white detailing on them, the shutters are a hunter green. The front of the house has two white columns framing the white front door. Above the door, on the second storey, there is a balcony, a door leading into whatever room is up there. It seems like a classic colonial house. Dean wonders why an angel needs that much space. It’s not like he can’t just go anywhere in the world he wants. If the angel is even a he. Dean doesn’t know, they wouldn’t tell him anything.

 

There’s a guard behind him, walking him to the front door, making sure he doesn’t make a break for it, Dean thinks.

 

He walks up the two steps to make it up to the platform in front of the door. He stares at the white double door. It’s intimidating, not knowing what waits for him behind it. Is the angel going to treat him well, or is he going to spend his time locked up in a room somewhere, only to be treated well enough to be kept alive? Dean isn’t sure, but he hopes it’s the first.

 

Before he can even touch the door to knock on it, it swings open, revealing a man with messy dark hair, and slight stubble. Dean is quick to flick his eyes down to the floor, making eye-contact was scared out of him long ago.

“Welcome, Dean Winchester.” The angel says, his voice deep, Dean takes a second to seriously consider whether or not the dude has been gargling gravel.

 

He holds the door open wide, gesturing Dean inside with his hand. Dean hears the sound of the guard’s footsteps fading away, presumably secure in the fact that he’s not going to run. He takes a step inside the house, the cool hair hitting him, making goosebumps and his hair rise on his forearms.

 

The angel closes the door behind Dean.

 

“Just Dean, dude,” Dean replies, he knows that being anything other than absolutely polite probably isn’t a smart move, but he’s sacrificing a lot just being here, he isn’t going to change his personality for some douche bag angel.

 

“Of course.” The angel in question responds, giving a sharp nod. “I’m Commander Castiel. You may call me Castiel.”

 

Dean nods, avoiding eye contact by staring at _Castiel’s_ shoes. They’re so clean that they shine. Dean wonders if he cleaned them or if it’s just some type of angelic perk. The black slacks the man has on are equally as clean. No hair, no dirt, no dust. Too clean to be normal, and a sharp contrast to Dean’s own threadbare jeans and dirty second-hand work boots. Castiel’s tan trench coat hangs down to his knees, the coat’s belt dangling with it.

 

Dean watches through his eyelashes as Castiel clasps his hands in front of him, his back ramrod straight. “May Samandriel take your bag to your room?” He inquires.

 

Dean finally looks up at him. The man has his head tilted to the side, his big blue eyes staring intently at Dean. His expression reminds him of a bird and he has a sudden inappropriate urge to laugh. Instead, he huffs out a bitter sound, “whatever, man.”

 

The angel squints at him, “my name is Castiel.”

 

 _Right._ Dean wants to roll his eyes, but even he’s not that dumb. He’s heard of other true vessels having their eyes removed, their tongues cut off, even their hands or feet. After all, breeding cattle don’t have to look pretty, they just have to lay down and take it.

 

“Here you go,” he shoves his backpack against the angel's stomach, “Castiel.”

 

Dean notes, with not a small bit of satisfaction, that he’s taller than Castiel. It doesn’t make a lick of difference in the long run, he knows that he’s no match for an angel of the lord, but the thought is a nice one.

 

“Thank you.” The angel nods, his lips quirking in a very sad attempt at a smile. “Samandriel, would you take this and show Dean his room?”

 

“Of course, Castiel.” Samandriel rushes to say, as he takes the backpack from Castiel’s hands. Giving Dean a smile and a head gesture that means he’s supposed to follow.

 

“Welcome, Dean,” The boy, because he certainly is, no more than a teenager, really, says, smiling back at Dean as they start walking up the grand wooden staircase, with its wooden railings. “You may call me Sam if you’d like.”

 

“Yeah, that’s not gonna happen, kid,” Dean replies, huffing another bitter laugh. It seems that’s the only kind of laugh he’s capable of these days.

 

There’s only one Sam in his life, his one responsibility and he let him down. He promised his dad he would protect Sammy. Look how well that turned out, with him here, and Sammy God knows where. Dean really fucked up.

 

Samandriel is a small, skinny kid, with a mole under his left eye. Dean feels bad for whatever poor sucker Samandriel is inhabiting. He’s wearing something similar to Castiel. A white button-up with a black tie, tucked into black slacks, with the same black shiny shoes. He has a name tag on his shirt though, a little metal rectangle, something that a waiter would wear, it says “Alfie”.

 

“Dude, what’s up with the name tag?” Dean asks, curious.

 

“Oh,” Samandriel says in surprise, looking down at the name tag in question, “I suppose it was my vessels.”

 

“What, was he a waiter or something?” Dean replies, raising his eyebrow.

 

“Yes, I believe he was.” Samandriel smiles again. His child-like happiness grates on Dean’s nerves.

 

Dean doesn’t bother to reply, instead just keeps following Samandriel down the second-floor hallway. The hallway wallpaper is old, vintage, really, a pale blue with prints of flowers decorating it in a slightly darker shade. The carpet is white and fluffy under his boots and he takes great pleasure in seeing bits of dirt falling off from his boots onto the pristine floor. When Samandriel abruptly stops, however, Dean barely stops himself in time to keep from running right into him.

 

“Dude!” Dean exclaims, “a little warning.”

  
  
“Apologies, Dean.” Samandriel ducks his head, opening the door as he does so. He swings it open to reveal a barren room, empty except for a double bed - which is made perfectly, hospital corners and all, a nightstand with a lamp on it, a wooden dresser standing directly across the room from the bed, and an empty desk with a chair tucked into it.

 

“Here’s your room.” Samandriel beams, setting Dean’s backpack down on the bed. “If anything is not to your liking, let Castiel or myself know.”

 

“Yeah, thanks, Alfie.” Dean smiles, a little less bitter, but a little sadder. This is it then, his new home, no Sammy, no Baby, just an angel with a stick stuck up his butt and another who doesn’t seem older than seventeen.

 

“It’s–“ Samandriel starts, probably to correct Dean, but he doesn’t really care. “You’re welcome, Dean. I’ll leave you to settle.” He says, instead, closing the door softly on his way out.

 

Dean goes back to surveying the room. There’s a window across the room from the door. Dean would bet anything that it doesn’t open. Not like jumping from a second storey floor would do much other than maybe break his arm.

 

The floor is wood, the walls copy the hallway’s wallpaper, with its vintage powder blue, this room, thankfully, is void of the flowers. He walks further into the room, stopping in front of the dresser, opening the top drawer with a slight wiggle in order to unstick it. It’s completely empty, not even a speck of dust. He stares into it, breathing evenly, but blinking fast.

 

It’s certainly a nice room, Dean thinks, better than anything he’s ever had before. He hopes Sam has a room as nice as this and an angel who doesn’t appear to want to rip him to shreds.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys so much for reading! Let me know what you thought of it in the comments below. I'm super excited to be writing this and I hope I can continue to stick with it. Please leave me a comment on your thoughts, criticism or praise, I want to hear it.


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